


Set Adrift

by vienn_peridot



Series: Fins and Feet [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: AU: Faerie, AU: Humanformer, AU: Merformer, AU: Mythformer, Action, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Conditioning, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drug Addiction, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Mer!Wing, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, OC: Mystere, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Romance, Selkie!Ratchet, Shapeshifting, Shifter!Wing, Smut, Temporary Amnesia, Torture, Violence, culture clash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Urban Fantasy humanformers with lots of feels' -Onigil<br/>^Stealing that to use as a placeholder synopsis<br/>Basically: Drift accidentally gets mixed up with complicated Faerie business and a bunch of stuff happens.</p><p> </p><p>THIS WILL GET VERY DARK AT TIMES. HEED THE TAGS. (Characters will still be rewarded with good things to balance out the nasty)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> ~This is a hybrid of my Faerie AU and the same Mer AU that A Ship Called Wander is set in.  
> ~Legal systems are based of of those in my own country (New Zealand)  
> ~Drift is female, Ratchet is male and Shifter!Wing was originally Mer so he can pick and choose what tackle he 'keeps' with each shift to human.  
> ~Random shit, headcanons, art and spoilers can be found [here](http://adhesivesandscrap.tumblr.com/tagged/set-adrift-merformers).  
> {Mer language is written like this}

# One: Legacy

Wing was with the Crystal Cove pod when he saw the distant sparkle of a magical messenger speeding through the ocean. He watched in confusion as it shot unerringly towards him, unable to figure out how or why it seemed to have singled him out as it dodged past everyone else in the Pod. He started to worry as it stopped in front of him and unfolded like a flower, then relaxed when an unfamiliar face appeared in the soft green-gold light. Those nearby stopped what they were doing, watching curiously. Magical messengers were common enough but they always brought important news.

By the time the messenger delivered it’s message and vanished in a twist of light and warm water every single one of Wing’s fins were flared in full alarm. Even though the sender had been speaking an unfamiliar Faerie dialect Wing understood just enough to understand why the mindless little messenger had sought him out.

Whoever had sent it needed help. Needed it immediately.

The sender wouldn’t live long enough for anyone but the closest Fae to arrive in time.

A brief conversation with Axe got him volunteers, two Mer with the gift of Sight and three of their hunters, then Wing was off as fast as he could go, leading the rescue party by a good hundred meters. Like all those in the rescue party Wing had his long whalebone daggers strapped behind his hips in the most hydrodynamic position possible. The weapons were tied into their sheaths so he wouldn’t have to worry about them falling out as he swam.

Apart from their daggers the rescue part travelled unencumbered. Wing had understood very little of the message but he had been able to make out the words ‘Rodion’, ‘Ironmen’, ‘Sight’ ‘Danger’ and ‘ _help u_ s’.

The nameless Fae was not alone.

The rescue party stayed low in the water, using a seabed current to speed their progress as Wing used the lingering tingle of magic to set their course. When they neared the origin-point of the Messenger all six Mer detected the sound of an idling motor. They started to slow moments before a Call slammed into Wing with such strength that he went momentarily blind, braking himself as hard as he could as dizziness washed over him.

**_~She is my Legacy~_ **

A Call that strong could only be cast _exanimatum_.

 _We’re too late_.

He wasn’t given time to mourn.

Two bodies hit the water in quick succession and Wing’s vision cleared to see the five volunteers from the pod speeding past him, the two Mer with Sight going for the wriggling body and the warriors going for the too-still shape leaving a dark trail behind it in the water. Above them the boat gunned its engine and took off, cleaving a sharp wake through the ripping ceiling of the sea.

Obviously the Ironmen thought the ocean would kill their other victim for them.

The unknown Fae’s final Call sent Wing to help the pair who was struggling with the survivor, trying to get the human up to air without being hit somewhere painful. Wing slid up behind the human and grabbed them under the arms, driving upwards towards the surface and air. The human went worryingly limp and heavy a few meters from the surface and Wing forced himself to swim harder, the others able to assist now that the human was no longer struggling. He broke the surface first, hauling the human up and wrapping his arms around their torso to support them as they coughed and vomited up seawater before latching onto his arms and drawing deep, shuddering gasps of cold night air.

{This one is dead, Wing.} One of the warriors said. Together the three of them were supporting the body of the unknown Fae, carefully keeping it out of the surviving human’s line of sight. {We need to get away from here before sharks come. I’m not defending a corpse.}

_How did he die?_

{I agree.} One of the Sighted Mer assisting Wing said, moving closer to examine the human Wing was holding. {We need to get this one to shore. Are we taking it to Ratchet?}

There really was no other choice, not with that Call identifying the human as the dead Fae’s Legacy. They were now irrevocably responsible for this mortal, even as the human would owe Wing for saving their life.

_Why me?_

{We will take them both to the shore near the WRC.} Wing decided aloud, tipping the human’s head back against his shoulder to keep its mouth clear of the waves as they continued gasping for air. {You five will keep watch while I go get Ratchet. Is this acceptable?}

Carefully, Wing used one hand to clear the human’s face of the strands of soaked black hair clinging to it. Their eyes opened, wide and dark and terrified, staring into his and shocking him motionless with the faint shimmer of Sight gleaming in their depths. His fins flared slowly with alarm and the gleam of Sight intensified.

 _The Legacy is a mortal girl with the Sight. Ratchet is going to_ kill _me._

“Who’re you? Where’s Gasket?” the moral asked, voice rough from her near-drowning.

Even though he understood her perfectly Wing decided it would be better if he pretended not to. He chirped and clicked questioningly, smiling vacuously and cocking his head at her. The human scowled and tried to push herself out of his hold, apparently forgetting that they were in the middle of the ocean and he was the only thing holding her up.

“Lemme go, stupid fishface.” She growled, struggling as he tightened his grip on her skinny frame. “Gotta find Gasket. Bastards stabbed him.”

{We need to get moving, Wing} One of the unencumbered hunters popped up a short distance away, fins twitching anxiously. {Tiger sharks have already scented the blood and are moving in}

{Understood.} Wing said briskly, the word cut off with a noise of pain as the human drove a sharp elbow into his ribcage. {Let’s get moving before this one beats me to death}

Fins slicked flat in displeasure Wing secured his grip on the human and began to follow the warriors burdened with the corpse of the unknown fae. The human girl began screaming and swearing, kicking and striking at him and even going so far as to sink her teeth into his hand when he put it over her mouth in an attempt to silence her. The other Mer of the rescue party gave him amused or concerned looks as he shook his bitten hand and swore in a stream of hissing clicks that seemed to startle the human.

The _last_ thing they needed right now was the human law-enforcers hearing the commotion and coming to investigate so Wing kept his own voice low. Somehow he managed to trap her arms against her sides but there wasn’t anything he could do about the savage kicking that was bruising his tail and pelvic fins. Trying to swim with her thrashing around like this was slowing them all down but there was nothing they could do but persevere.

Eventually she ran out of energy to fight him with and started to cry, still swearing at him in between great, tearing sobs.

_If you weren’t a Legacy I’d throw you at the Coastguard and never look back._

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief when the human girl passed out in Wing’s arms and they were able to pick up the pace.

The sky overhead was just taking on the deep blue tinge of predawn when the six exhausted Mer approached the Crystal Cove Wildlife Rescue Centre. An achy and exhausted Wing left the five volunteer Mer in charge of getting the dead Fae and his human Legacy safely deposited on the rocky outcropping that separated the Centre’s outdoor pool from the sea and powered his way through the surf to the other side of the rocky bluff the humans had built on.

_I’m so tired._

He was lucky enough to catch a good, strong breaker where the waves began, bodysurfing it all the way to the beach where he forced his fatigued body through a Change. Elegant fins shrank and disappeared, tough micro-scaled hide became thin human skin and hair grew atop his head while fingers shrank and his tailfin shriveled and split to form legs and feet.

Wing groaned as he pushed himself upright in waist-high surf, examining the bruises mottling his pale human skin with a sour expression

_No wonder I hurt so much._

There was human clothing hidden for him in a waterproof packet wedged into a crack of rock and camouflaged with smaller stones. Ratchet maintained it, supplying him with clothes that fit and wouldn’t get him arrested for indecent exposure. Wing located the stash, slowly dragged the loose-fitting garments on and stuffed the packet back into its hiding place before gritting his teeth and starting to run.

It was agony.

First the rescue and being beaten half to death, then towing the dead weight of an unconscious human halfway down the coast and now a marathon through the dawn-lit streets of Crystal Cove. His bruises ached and every muscle screamed, breath coming in ragged gasps as his body struggled for oxygen.

_Deep Currents, if I survive this I’ll never complain about a long hunt again!_

The familiar sight of Ratchet’s neighbourhood gave Wing the energy he needed to make it to his destination. He didn’t know if Ratchet had already been awake when Wing staggered through the gate and stumbled around to the back door, the sound of him knocking things over in his fumbling search for the spare key brought the Selkie running anyway. The back door whipped open in Wing’s face and he blinked stupidly at the sight of Ratchet wearing nothing but boxer shorts and holding a metal-tipped walking stick as if he meant to club him with it.

Despite the implied threat of the stick Wing sagged with relief, dropping to his hands and knees on the doormat.

The cane fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Wing?! What the hell happened?” He demanded, scooping Wing up in his arms and carrying the Fae inside.

“Someone Called, _exanimatus_.” The exhausted Fae gasped as he was deposited on something soft. “Came from near Rodion. Took help from the Pod but we were too late.” His eyes were blurry and everything hurt. He wanted to sleep “There’s a Legacy. Girl with the Sight. They’re at the WRC. You need to get there before humans do. She’s a _Legacy_ , Ratch.”

The selkie was swearing quite impressively even before Wing finished speaking, utilising several languages before the mention of a Legacy stunned him into momentary silence. The silence didn’t last long as Ratchet resumed cursing while he struggled into his clothes. When he was dressed Ratchet vanished for a moment before returning with a blanket, draping it over the worn-out shapeshifter and pressing a brief kiss to his forehead.

When Ratchet straightened up Wing realised with a pang that the selkie looked more alive than he had years.

“You stay here and rest; I’ll tell the Pod where you are.” With that Ratchet stomped his feet into shoes and took off, slamming the back door behind him.

Wing struggled against an attack of conscience and the lethargy steadily creeping over him now that he was no longer moving.

_I’ve done everything I can. It’s up to Ratchet right now._

Secure in the knowledge that the unknown Fae’s Legacy was in good hands, Wing pulled the blanket around his aching body and gave in to the desire to sleep.

 

 **Gasket’s Message** :

_My name is Gasket of Rodion. Ironmen have myself and a mortal with the Sight. Our lives are in danger. Please help us._


	2. A Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet is too late and Drift wakes up to one of the worst mornings of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter consists mostly of edited and re-worked stuff that went on Tumblr.
> 
> WARNING: WE HAVE A CLOSE-UP VIEW OF GASKET'S CORPSE IN THIS CHAPTER. SKIP THE DRIFT-POV CHUNK TO AVOID NASTY

# Two: A Rude Awakening

 

Ratchet couldn’t believe it.

Wing was now responsible for the mortal Legacy of a completely unknown Fae, one with the ability to see through illusions and glamorie and the thoughtless shapeshifter had gone and dragged Ratchet into the situation.

 _And of all the places in the world this mortal could possibly come from it just_ had _to be Rodion, didn’t it._

A small voice of reason piped up in the back of his mind as the selkie tried to get the key into the ignition of his ute with shaking hands, reminding him that this Legacy was a mortal –a human being- so Wing would _have_ to get Ratchet involved. Having started life as a Mer the shapeshifter simply wasn’t equipped to deal with a human the way Ratchet was. Eventually he would have had to become involved, anyway.

 _Oh he_ owes _me for this._

Ratchet managed to get to the WRC without being caught speeding but it was a close thing. The sun was over the horizon by the time he pulled into the carpark and he swore at the clock on the dashboard telling him he’d missed the small window of time that would mean he was first on the scene.

Then he heard the screams.

 

## ~V~V~V~

 

“Hey. Hey. Hey you, are you awake?”

Someone was trying to wake Drift up. Rudely. _Very_ rudely.

She didn’t want to wake up. Everything hurt and her mouth tasted like shit. This didn’t stop whoever-it-was. They kept talking at her and every now and then someone patted at her arm.

“Hey, lady. Are you ok?”

She mumbled something and slapped in the direction of the voice, scraping her hand over something hard. The bright starburst of pain forced the sleepy fog from her head and Drift moaned as the ache in her head intensified, stabbing into her brain from behind her eyes. Her heart sounded like it was trying to pound its way through her eardrums.

_How long have I been out?_

Her head shouldn’t hurt this bad, not just yet. Gasket had been helping her cut down on the Syk but Drift knew she wasn’t _anywhere_ near ready to go cold-turkey just yet. Still, she didn’t think she should be _this_ badly off. Figuring she’d try to get a bit more sleep before the cramps kicked in and she couldn’t ignore the craving any longer Drift pressed her face into the crook of her elbow and raised a finger at the annoying waker-upper. The pounding in her ears faded and little and Drift thought she could hear some weird noise like someone had one of those hippy ambiance CDs playing.

_Wave sounds. That’s kinda nice._

Drift sighed and pressed her head deeper into the crook of her arm, trying to go back to sleep. Instantly the hand was back, pat-pat-patting her arm.

“Lady, I asked if you’re ok?”

It sounded kinda like one of the new prospects, always super-respectful of the older gang members and those –like Drift- who were Turmoil’s special ‘assets’. Her entire body felt like she’d been hit by a train and hung out to dry for a week. No way in hell was Drift moving unless Turmoil or a customer wanted her.

“’M not fuckin’ _lady_.” Drift grumbled. “’M _Drift_ you twat. Piss off and lemme sleep.”

“Um, you can’t sleep out here Drift.” New Guy said, “And you’d better wake up before Ratchet gets here, he’s not a morning person either.”

_There’s nobody in Rodion called Ratchet._

It was strange enough to make going back to sleep not worth it, especially if Turmoil had booked her a customer and they were feeling punchy before they showed up.

“Fine. Whatever.” Drift groused, pushing herself into a sitting position and rubbing at her face. “’M getting up.”

Her eyes were crusted over with something. In fact, her whole face felt like it was covered in something stiff and crackly and her clothes were damp and kinda sticky-feeling. Ignoring hoe gross her clothes felt Drift scrubbed at her face until she could get her eyes open then looked around.

_Oh shit._

Drift saw water, rocks, sky and light. Lots and lots of light that shot glass splinters through the back of her eyeballs in right into her brain. Gasket was there, lying flopped on his side and facing away from her in what looked like a really uncomfortable position. She leaned over to shake him awake. He felt heavier than normal, like he was passed out hard.

Drift shook him harder.

“C’mon Gasket. Wake the fuck up, man.”

She rolled the unresponsive man to his back. His skin was pale and mottled-looking, eyes staring blankly up at the sky. Drift stared, eyes roving and taking in the bloodless-looking slice in his palm that hadn’t clotted, white lines of bone visible in the middle of the gash. The wind gusted and caught his coat. It flopped open to reveal a pink-stained hole in his shirt.

This whole time Gasket’s chest hadn’t moved once.

Drift started hyperventilating.

“Gasket?” Drift hauled her aching body closer to him, patting uselessly at his chest and neck, trying to get a pulse with numb fingers. “Gasket? Come on, this isn’t funny.”

Starting to panic now, Drift thumped him in the ribs.

Water ran from Gasket’s open lips.

Drift screamed.

 

## ~V~V~V~

 

Those hoarse, heart-wrenching screams could only be coming from the mortal Wing had rescued. The sound had Ratchet out of his ute and tearing across the carpark leaving the keys in the ignition and the driver’s door wide open, unwilling to waste even a few seconds in securing the vehicle.

_I hate that thing. I hope someone steals it._

Ratchet cocked his head and sprinted towards the source of the screaming with the ease of someone used to hunting by sound. There was something about the quality of the screams that woke every single protective instinct in his body and made him run faster. Ignoring the main paths he took a quick and dirty shortcut around the back of the buildings to reach the outside habitat pool just in time to see one of the volunteer staff pull a dark-haired person away from a motionless, splay-limbed form.

_She’s a fighter._

The dark-haired person was still screaming and doing an impressive job of fighting off the two volunteers trying to hold them back despite her scarily thin frame. Rodimus was adding to the awful racket, yelling bloody murder from the edge of the habitat pool and flaring his fins angrily when nobody paid attention to him.

“ **What the hell is going on here?** ” Ratchet demanded, using a touch of Voice to get everyone’s attention.

Roddy looked relieved while the volunteer staff stared at him in shock. The skinny black-haired woman slipped from their hold and staggered forwards to crumple beside the guy on the ground, pressing her face into the motionless chest.

“Is anyone going to tell me?” Ratchet demanded, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

“Um, I heard noises out here last night.” Rodimus said before any of the human could speak. “When the gate went up I came out to check and found Drift and Gasket out here. You need to call the cops, Ratch.”

“And has anyone done that yet?” Ratchet asked, searching his pockets for his phone.

“Yeah, Magnus is on his way.” One of the volunteers said. “Um, and an ambulance.”

“Right.” Ratchet said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

 _Wing I’m going to have_ serious _words with you._

“Ambulance isn’t going to do any fucking good now.” The Legacy rasped angrily, raising her head to fix Ratchet with an angry glare. “Gasket’s _dead_.”

Ratchet froze under the sheer force of her stare. Something shifted in the mortal’s rich brown eyes and he got the uncanny feeling that she was staring deep into parts of him he’d much rather keep hidden.

 _Oh shit, she_ does _have the Sight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some very quick-and-dirty explanations:  
> [Voice] The ability to control and manipulate others with your voice.  
> [Sight] The ability to see through illusions, to see the true or hidden nature of things.


	3. Sight and Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift is seeing things and there is no way to know if they're real or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop more new stuff.

# Three: Sight and Seeing

 

Drift couldn’t tear her eyes away from the redheaded man.

She kinda wished he would start yelling again.

If he started again yelling maybe the sound would keep her from seeing things that weren’t real.

The first impression had been of wide, dark eyes and short, kinda fluffy red-and-white hair and an absolutely _bizarre_ white moustache. Then her eyes blurred and he was as hairless as a chemo patient with skin mottled red-and-white like peeling sunburn.

She finally dared to blink and when she opened her eyes he looked normal.

Long, white-streaked red hair all windblown and a clean-shaven face flushed from running. No moustache, one hell of a nose and dark red eyebrows drawn together over black eyes in a frown that would even scare… would even scare… Her thoughts were skipping; things Drift _thought_ she should know were slipping away from her like shattered reflections on water as her mind reached for them. Knowledge fractured when she needed it and re-formed when she wasn’t looking. It was familiar from some really intense Booster trips but that didn’t mean she liked it.

Drift blinked again.

His eyes weren’t black. They were dark blue.

_Fuck, it_ has _been too long_.

Syk kept her from seeing things like this. Things that weren’t real. Drift didn’t _dare_ take her eyes off the redheaded man now, in case he changed again and she never figured out which version of him was real.

“Hey, earth to Ratchet.”

The man blinked and looked away and the spell was broken. Drift dropped her gaze to Gasket’s still body and felt tears sting her eyes. For once she let them fall, not caring what these people thought. Gasket deserved to be mourned and Drift was probably the only person who’d be sad he was gone.

She would let herself cry for him.

Tears were the least he deserved.

_I’m sorry, Gasket._

Drift didn’t know what she was sorry for but guilt and regret fought with the sadness inside her as she reached out and closed his blank, lifeless eyes with numb and shaking hands, straightened his jacket to cover the stab wound in his chest and folding his hands across his chest before letting her arms drop back to her sides. People were talking but she ignored them, the Mer who’d woken her up was talking to the redheaded guy and other people were milling around where she couldn’t see them.

Normally this would have Drift on edge. Normally her hand would be in her pocket, ready to pull her knife on anyone who tried to get the jump on her. Right now she just didn’t care. She sat and stared blankly at the remains of her only friend and let herself cry for him.

_What the hell am I gonna do without him?_

The wind cut right through her damp clothes and threatened to freeze the tears on her cheeks but Drift ignored it the same way she ignored the voice of yet another stranger saying her name. Gasket had known what to do, had known where they were going and what they were supposed to do when they got there. Drift just went along with his plan. They both knew it had been too dangerous for her to know, just in case… _someone bad_ had found out tried to make her talk. Now that Gasket was gone she may as well just go back to… to…

Drift shook her head, rubbing the back of one hand over her eyes. Her mind felt slow and fuzzy, probably from the headache and early stages of Syk withdrawal. She wasn’t used to crying either but at least it washed the salt and gunk from around her eyes. Careful footsteps approaching from behind gave her just enough warning so she didn’t jump out of her skin when someone touched her shoulder.

“Drift, right?” They sounded female, confident and very young.

“What?” Drift’s voice was raspy from all the screaming she’d done since waking up.

She aimed a glare up at the person who’d spoken to her and was surprised to see a broad-shouldered young woman in a standard police uniform. The hand that wasn’t on Drift’s shoulder was holding a thin sheet of what looked like foil that crinkled in the breeze and reflected bright blades of light into her aching eyes.

“I’m Constable Strongarm, from the Crystal Cove police station. We need to get your statement about what happened to you and your friend, but first the paramedics want to check you over and make sure you’re alright.”

Drift laughed. A hard, ugly sound.

“Of course I’m not fucking _alright_.” She felt a stab of vicious satisfaction as the cop flinched at the venom in her words. “Gasket’s _dead.”_

“And we need you to cooperate so we can find the people that killed him and bring them to justice.” The policewoman said fervently, sounding like she believed every word she was saying.

Drift had to give this ‘Strongarm’ some credit for sheer stubborn naïveté. The woman had to be a recent addition to the police force or something. Fresh out of school and still absolutely sure she could make a difference in the world. As if her badge and uniform meant something honourable, as if the corruption that ran rampant in the rest of the world didn’t exist or her righteousness somehow erased it. She was the last person Drift wanted to have to deal with.

“There’s no justice for people like us,” Drift said bitterly. “Give it a few years and you’ll see.”

Before Strongarm could think of a comeback someone stomped up behind them, snatched the foil sheet out of her hand and wrapped it around Drift. Too stunned by the sudden relief from the wind Drift stayed still a moment too long and was hauled up to stand on her shaky legs.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?!” She demanded, the emergency blanket cutting the wind and making her feel instantly warmer. She tried to twist away from the strong hands forcing her to stay upright. “Quit it!”

“Then stop acting the fool and get in the bloody ambulance.”

She’d only really heard him speak once but Drift knew _exactly_ who owned that voice.

_No fucking way._

Drift jerked herself out of the redhead’s grip and whipped around; opening her mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with the ambulance.

Or she tried to.

Her feet caught on the rocks and she pitched sideways with arms tangled in the stupid emergency blanket. Strongarm and the redhead both jumped forward and caught Drift before she hit the ground, hauling her back upright with disgusting ease. They were both far stronger than they looked and Drift knew that as long as either of them had a hold on her she had absolutely no chance of getting away.

_Not that I’ve got anywhere to go._

“Thank you for your assistance.” The cop sounded crisper and more businesslike talking to the redheaded guy than she had when talking to Drift before. Drift’s vague hope that the interfering bastard was about to have his ass handed to him died with the next words out of Strongarm’s mouth.  “And you are?”

“Ratchet. I work here at the Centre, I’m Hot Rod’s handler. He’s the Mer who discovered these two out here and alerted WRC staff.”

“I… see.” From the way Strongarm looked at the flame-coloured Mer hovering anxiously at the edge of the pool it was obvious that she didn’t, not really.

Ignoring the two people currently talking around her Drift followed the Mer’s gaze to see uniformed men lifting Gasket, two more cooperating to hold a bodybag open on the ground beside him. The Mer seemed to be glowing but Drift ignored that too.

“Are you going to get in the ambulance or do I have to throw you in it?” The redhead –Ratchet- demanded. Out of the corner of her eye Drift could see him raising an eyebrow.

_He looks like he’d fucking do it, too._

Drift gave him the glare that sent everyone except Gasket and a small handful of hardened bastards running for cover.

“Fuck you.” She snarled, turning away from the sight of Gasket being zipped into a bodybag and stumbling towards the waiting ambulance.

_I’ll get them, Gasket. I promise. I’ll make them **pay**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for any butchering of Strongarm's character. I haven't watched the RiD tv show yet.


	4. Neither Here Nor There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet sticks close to the Legacy.  
> Drift goes into survival mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to the coffee-thrower about the roughness of this. Stupid respiratory infection is still murdering me :/
> 
> WARNING: References to prostitution and drug use in this chapter.

#  Four:  Neither Here Nor There

Ratchet needed to stay near the Legacy and he shamelessly influenced the mortals around him in order to make that happen. The girl obviously had enemies, possibly some of her own in addition to those he would have inherited from the murdered Fae now filling a body bag. Humans simply weren’t equipped to give this ‘Drift’ the kind of protection she clearly needed. Thanks to Wing dragging him into this mess it was up to the selkie to ensure she got it.

The scraps of human morality Ratchet had acquired over the years protested the way he manipulated with words, charm and subtle use of Voice to get his way, given licence to do so by the thin strands of _geas_ -binding he could dimly sense stretching between the mortal to Wing, and Wing and through Wing to himself.

_Blasted curse-blunted senses_.

It certainly helped that Crystal Cove had a long history of lost people showing up on the beach. Once Ratchet had shoved the mortal girl into the hands of human paramedics it was easy enough for him to insinuate himself into the group heading for the police station. As soon as the police had preliminary statements from all relevant witnesses Ratchet made a few subtle suggestions that ended up with him back in his detested ute (Unfortunately for him nobody had stolen it.) and trailing along behind the small convoy of ambulance and police cars to the Crystal Cove Police Station to fill out the official paperwork on behalf of the WRC.

Ratchet was well-known as a workaholic so nobody thought it strange that he would choose to spend his day off dealing with legal paperwork.

He kept an ear open while filling in forms and making his own official statement regarding on what he’d learned from Hot Rod. The new cop from out of town had been put in charge of dealing with the mortal girl. Apparently Drift seemed to trust her more than the male officers, something that worried Ratchet.

_If she only trusts females then how am I going to do this without using a compulsion she’ll just break?_

Drift would be safer at his place than anywhere else in town, whether she knew it or not. Even Wheeljack’s property didn’t have the kinds of defences in place that Ratchet had on his place. He became so preoccupied with the problem that he almost missed it when the mortal stomped into the police station, still wrapped in the emergency blanket, fuming and glaring daggers at anyone in a uniform.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

She was about ready to deck someone.

First there had been all the usual stupid tests with arm cuffs and thermometers and shit in the ambulance, then they’d forced her to drink some foul lemony gunk while they kept asking questions she didn’t remember the answers to.

It’s wasn’t like she was doing it on _purpose_. But the hospital people and the cop Strongarm obviously thought she was. Drift had learned long ago that making stuff up and pretending not to remember didn’t save you from bigger trouble as often as you thought it would.

_These guys don’t scare me. Not like I haven’t been in trouble with cops before._

Then someone said three magic words that absolved her of all guilt and killed off everything except the occasional suspicious glance from the more jaded paramedic.

Post-traumatic amnesia.

Apparently the therapist on duty figured that Drift had smacked her head at some point –either while struggling with her assailants or the mysterious Mer rescuer- and it had been hard enough to temporarily scramble her brains. Then it was fewer questions and even _more_ tests for concussion and blood samples to check for everything under the sun. When she was just about ready to scream and start biting people they declared themselves finished and Strongarm took her to the police station.

So they could figure out what to do with her while they found out what the hell had happened to her.

In the car Drift repeated the facts she remembered over and over to herself to keep from panicking at being in a police vehicle.

_My name is Drift. I’m from Rodion. I’m one of the best damn tricks in town. Gasket was helping me get off Syk so I could leave. Gasket was my best friend and someone killed him. They tried to kill me. They failed. I’m going to make them regret it. My name is Drift…_

Apparently there was some kind of procedure for this, as if random people just washing up on the beach happened a lot. Drift decided to go along with it, it wasn’t like she had any plans right now and wasn’t going to argue with the lure of a shower and clean clothes and maybe even some food if she got _really_ lucky. Lieutenant Strongarm herded her into the police station and Drift marched right on through, sizing up the cops and pretending not to see an aggravatingly familiar redhead leaning against the counter in front of a mountain of paperwork.

Strongarm showed Drift to the women’s changing rooms and gave her a plastic bag to put her soggy, salt-stained gear in and then disappeared, muttering something about finding clothes.

As Drift stripped off in one of the tiny shower stalls she took inventory, incredibly glad that her boots had somehow survived the sea. She didn’t have much in the way of valuables left and good boots were very hard to get on the streets. Unfortunately the one thing she wanted to be rid of -that stupid chain marking her as one of the pimp’s little pets- wasn’t coming off without boltcutters. It was just a few links too short to slip off over her head and Drift didn’t have a copy of the key for the heavy padlock grazing the tops of her collarbones.

_Asshole_.

Apart from the chain and Drift’s clothes all that had survived the sea was her knife in its thigh-sheath and a silver toe ring Gasket had given her. That was it. The sum total of her worldly possessions and it didn’t even fill a supermarket shopping bag.

_It’s not much… But I’ve done more with less._

While Drift showered and scrubbed off the gritty, sticky feeling of dried seawater and dirt with generic shower soap from the bottle on the wall she could hear Strongarm and Magnus talking by the door. Then shuffling and sounds of people carrying heavy things. There was a thump and a male voice let rip with some rather impressive swearing. Drift grinned evilly to herself as she shut the shower off and grabbed the towel Strongarm had lent her.

_Aww, did the big bad cop drop something on his toe?_

Dry, clean and with the towel wrapped firmly around herself Drift picked up her bag and boots in one hand, carefully pushing the stall door open to reveal one of the weirdest things she’d ever seen. Her brain tried and failed several times to find an explanation for what had happened while she showered. It looked like the lost-and-found boxes of several bars and maybe a bus depot had puked in the middle of the changing room.

According to Strongarm, that’s exactly what it was.

“Places like that hold onto stuff for about two weeks, then send it on to us. After six months if it’s still unclaimed it goes to one of the charity stores. Mostly people don’t bother picking something up unless it’s got sentimental value. I wish there was another way of doing this because it’s a real pain but apparently that’s just the tradition out here and nobody wants to change it.”

Drift stared open-mouthed at the mountain (there wasn’t another word for it; it really _was_ a mountain) of unclaimed clothing with a sense of wonder and disgust. Wonder that this bounty was hers to choose from, disgust that the people here seemed to have so much that they could just _loose_ this many items of clothing and not care. They probably _didn’t_ care, because unless it was something super expensive they could always just buy something to replace what was lost. They were the kinds of people who drove the prices up at second-hand stores whenever slumming it became trendy.

_The same guys who’ll pay for an hour with me at night but push me out of the way during the day._

The first things she grabbed were tough, baggy jeans that were definitely too long in the leg and the first hoodie that was dark enough to help her hide in the shadows. When she was dressed Strongarm encouraged her to keep going, pushing her to choose what the cop called ‘a proper wardrobe’ and what Drift called ‘far too many clothes’. They excavated a bag from somewhere in the mountain to put everything in and Drift forced a stop to the operation while it was still light enough for her to carry while running.

_No point in having more than that._

Before Strongarm could try to push Drift into playing dress-up right then and there she hefted the bag in one hand and picked up her boots by the laces again, glaring at the cop to let her know that Drift was absolutely done with this nonsense.

“So, what happens now?” She asked briskly.

She had to hand it to Strongarm; the other woman didn’t do much more than blink before falling in with the change in activities.

“Now we find you a place to stay until your memory comes back.”

Strongarm’s smile wasn’t nearly as reassuring as she intended it to be. Drift followed her warily out of the relative safety of the changing rooms and through the police station, hands white-knuckle tight on her boots and bag of new clothes, wishing her knife was in her pocket instead of the bag.

It would make her feel a lot safer.


	5. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift has a wider range of accommodation options open to her than she thought.  
> Well, it looks that way to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely wrecked so I'm sorry if I missed grammar and spelling shit >.

# Five: Options

 

It was interesting to see how everyone reacted to her walking in all clean and tidy, dressed in clean clothes and holding a bag of stuff like she was a proper traveller and not street trash flotsam that had washed up on the beach. The reactions were subtle, but Drift hadn’t survived this long without being able to pick up on tiny changes in the environment and react accordingly. If you were too stupid to learn how to read a crowd or a customer you didn’t last long in Rodion.

Some of the cops looked surprised at her choice in clothing, the big one just crossed his arms and frowned at Drift in a way that told her he knew _exactly_ why she’d picked the things she had. There were a few civilians and maybe a mufti cop who glanced at her curiously and dismissed her almost as fast as she dropped them off her own personal threat radar. That redhead Ratchet was still there, apparently finished with his paperwork. He gave Drift an evaluating look that somehow came across as non-threatening, kinda like the look Gasket used to give her when he was trying to figure out if she was OK after a bad trip or one of the customers got too rough.

Didn’t matter if he reminded her of Gasket; she was still going to watch him.

Drift shifted the bag to her back, putting her arms through the straps like a backpack even though it definitely wasn’t designed to be worn like that. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her new jeans, standing casually while her eyes carefully tracked Strongarm as the policewoman motioned for Drift to stay where she was and went through a door separating the ‘police’ part of the lobby from the public area. It was interesting that they still needed the little walled-off bit with its shatterproof glass; this place seemed pretty sleepy compared to Rodion.

_Probably standard._

“What are my options?” Drift asked, cutting right to the chase.

This seemed to startle some of the police and she made note of which ones. The redhead covered a smile by rubbing at his nose, eyes flicking between Drift and the most alarmed-looking cops. She still sounded like crap and speaking as loudly as she had just made her sound worse. By this point Drift really hoped there would be food coming soon. Or a few minutes alone with vending machine that she could get something from with a few good kicks.

“You can either take a room at one of the motels or stay with a local until a permanent solution for your situation can be found.” The big cop said. From his stance and uniform Drift figured he was probably the one in charge so she shifted the bulk of her attention to him, still keeping an eye on the redhead and tracking general movement in the room for threats. “Normal procedure would be the motel, but your situation complicates that option.”

Not liking what she was hearing, Drift squared her shoulders and glared at Big Cop.

“Why not?”

“From the condition of the deceased male who was found with you and what you have told us, there is obviously a person or _persons_ unknown who may be looking for you if they suspect you are still alive.” Big Cop said.

Out of the corner of her eye Drift could see the redhead watching Big Cop and frowning as if he didn’t like what he was hearing. Drift didn’t like it either.

“Well that’s pretty fucking obvious.” She rolled her eyes. One hand rose to tug at the chain and padlock around her neck. The blasted thing seemed to weigh a ton. “Not much I can do about that, though. I know I _should_ be able to remember what they look like even if I don’t know their names.”

“Which is why if you stay at the motel you will have to have an officer with you at all times, for your own safety.” Big Cop said, giving Drift a surprisingly effective glare when she opened her mouth to protest again.

_Like hell!_

“Until your memory returns you will not be able to recognise your assailants and I will _not_ place the responsibility for your safety on members of the public who would also be at risk due to their involvement with you.” Big Cop said sternly. A quick look around showed Drift that the others who were involved in this little committee meeting agreed with him. “Any stranger claiming to know you could just as easily be an associate of yours or of those who have already successfully committed _one_ homicide in my jurisdiction. In that case, both Ratchet and Constable Strongarm have offered to open their homes to you, given that they live in parts of the community where strangers will be immediately noticed.”

Drift thought about it, confusion churning through her mind. It was hard to think; she was so tired and her stomach ached with that familiar nauseating hollowness that threatened to become dry heaves. As much as she wanted to take the hotel option, she had to admit that the Big Cop was right. Right now she had absolutely no idea who was after her. All she knew was that someone probably was. Someone – _anyone_ \- could come to a motel or wherever and claim to know both her and Gasket and could put a bullet through her brain before she could figure out how she knew them.

_Fuck that, they could just wait in the carpark and off me from a distance_. _I want to live long enough to get the bastards back._

Her fingers curled around the chain that collared her, tugging on the familiar weight. With the motel off the cards that meant staying with Strongarm or Ratchet. Her eyes flickered between the young policewoman who was filling in paperwork on the other side of the glass partition and the redheaded man leaning on the counter with his arms crossed, watching everything with an expression on his face that Drift couldn’t read. His hair was reflecting the overhead lights oddly; almost glowing and looking like he was greying in weird stripes or something.

Strongarm _seemed_ alright for a cop but distrust of police in general was too deeply ingrained within Drift for her to willingly take that option. She knew how to handle cops but she knew how to deal with blokes Ratchet’s age as well, and even if the guy _was_ a bit of a prick Big Cop didn’t seem like the kind of guy to vouch for a creep.

_Plus if I_ do _end up having to bolt it’s was easier to sneak out on people who aren’t cops._

“I’ll go with Ratchet. It’s the last thing they’d expect.” Drift said decisively. “I want to make it as hard as possible for those fuckers to find me.”

Even though she was watching him carefully Drift couldn’t figure out if Ratchet’s expression changed at all. Big Cop frowned and Strongarm looked a little disappointed but Drift couldn’t care less about hurting a cop’s feelings. All she wanted to do was find somewhere to pass out somewhere for a while. The heat of the shower was slowly oozing away and so was the restorative effect of whatever the ambulance people had made her drink. Big Cop must have been able to tell because he nodded and made a gesture like he was ending the conversation and waving her out the door at the same time.

“Alright. Constable Strongarm or myself will be in touch with you tomorrow, Drift.”

With that Big Cop nodded to Drift and headed briskly for the depths of the police station, leaving her standing there confused, sore, increasingly groggy and wondering what the hell was going on. There was something not-quite-right about the whole situation, but nothing had been right since Gasket had showed up and said they had to go _now_.

_It was weeks earlier than we planned. He must have known they were onto us_.

Strongarm must have seen the expression on Drift’s face because the policewoman waved Drift over to the counter.

“Don’t worry about Ratchet; his bark’s worse than his bite and the fund that would have paid for the motel will sort out board and everything.” She was obviously trying to be reassuring but her words just made Drift more suspicious of the whole situation. “It’s not forever, just until we figure out who was responsible for this, alright?” Strongarm raised her voice a little so that the redhead could hear her easily and winked at Drift in an overly-familiar way that made her want to throw something at the other woman. “Remember, Drift; my offer still stands and I basically live here at the station so you know where to find me if you get sick of the grouchy bugger.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” Ratchet’s voice held so much sarcasm Drift wondered if he’d weaponised the concept. “I’m not _that_ bad!”

The cop just laughed and gave Ratchet a sceptical look.

_What the fuck’s she trying to do?_ Humanise _the weirdo?_

“I’ve heard stories about what happens to those who get between you and the coffee machine.” Strongarm said and turning slightly concerned blue eyes on Drift. “Be careful about that, ok?”

Drift shrugged and looked the redhead up and down; making it damn obvious that she was sizing him up. Strongarm twitched nervously on the other side of the shatterproof glass while Ratchet raised an eyebrow and looked amused. His eyes flickered between black and deep blue as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It made Drift feel a bit better to make the pushy redhead feel uncomfortable, worth the headache she could feel building as his hair seemed to flicker _red-white-red_ in the harsh overhead lights.

_He’s strong. Built like a brick shithouse under that jersey. I’d have to be fast_.

She shrugged dismissively, digging her hands deeper into her pockets.

“So long as there’s coffee left for me I won’t have to start a fight.” Drift muttered.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Ratchet’s too-white teeth flash in a grin.

“There’s always plenty; I make sure of it.” The redhead said. “Come on, let’s go get some food.”

That was the best idea Drift had heard all day so she followed Ratchet out of the police station almost eagerly, too tired and hungry to wonder why she was trusting total strangers so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selkie!Ratchet is still manipulating the hell outta everyone around him, Drift was able to See some of the times when he's pushing hardest.


	6. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet sorts out Drift, then prepares to deal with Wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how long it's been since I updated this, considering I think about this fic all the bloody time.  
> Here we have new stuff and an 'unedited' piece from tumblr edited and rewritten slightly to fit the story.

# Six: Settling In

 

Even though he privately detested fast food, Ratchet stopped to pick up takeaways on the way home. If this mortal was even half as suspicious as she seemed, he figured it would be the easiest way to show that he hadn’t poisoned whatever she was about to eat.

_And that it’s not bound by the same laws as Fae food, not that she’d know to worry about_ that _._

Even though she huffed and grumbled something about ‘rich bastards’ when he asked for her order, there was no mistaking the way Drift’s eyes lit up when he handed her the bag containing her hideously greasy order. Ratchet had a small spell of healing waiting on his fingertips and he made sure to fumble the bag transfer just enough to be able to touch her hand and let the magic loose. It would take effect slowly and hopefully the mortal would associate the restorative effect of his magic with the fried food she was now shovelling into her mouth as fast as she could chew and swallow.

“Slow down, would you?” Ratchet tried to keep the worry out of his voice at the speed with which Drift was eating. “I don’t want to have to do the Heimlich on you in middle of the bloody road.”

Drift just snorted, rolled her eyes and continued to wolf the food down, not stopping until only grease-spotted paper and the can of fizzy remained. Ratchet couldn’t believe it.

_We’re not even halfway home_.

Ratchet took advantage of a red light to give Drift a look of undisguised horror as she cracked open the can, expecting the mortal to chug it at the same speed she’d eaten the rest of her food. She caught his look and laughed, slouching in the passenger seat and sipping slowly.

“What? I was fucking hungry. Cops _never_ feed you.” Drift said as he continued to flick her horrified glances as he drove. “’Sides, I’ve never had a whole burger to myself like that before. There was good scavenging from that big chain but theirs are shit even straight off the grill, and by the time we got to them they’re either half-eaten or covered in other crap.”

Drift was giving him a challenging look, obviously expecting some sort of horrified reaction.

“Well that makes sense, then.” Ratchet said mildly, “If you’re still hungry you can help yourself to the fridge when we get home. Have you stayed in a hostel or anything before?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the road but Ratchet was sure he was getting the evil eye from Drift; his skin tingled the same way it did when Wing or Roddy glared at him with anger but no active intent to lay a curse.

“Yeah, once or twice.” Drift’s voice was guarded and Ratchet could feel suspicion radiating from her. “Why?”

“Same basic house rules apply.” Ratchet said smoothly, “Except you’ll have police keeping an eye on you until whoever tried to kill you is found and the fund will take care of your living expenses, to an extent. When you’re medically cleared for work there are a few places around looking for part-time staff.”

“You’re talking like I even wanna stay in this town.” Drift threw the words at him, crushing her empty can and sliding down in the passenger seat.

Ratchet bit his tongue on a sarcastic response.

“It’s an option.” He said instead.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Ratchet could tell Drift was feeling the effects of the minor healing spell by the time they reached home and he was showing the mortal around. She was more relaxed than he’d seen her so far and yawning almost constantly.

_I forgot that it makes mortals tired_.

He had a brief moment of panic when he remembered Wing, wondering how he’d explain the shapeshifter’s presence to Drift. But Wing wasn’t there; the blanket Ratchet had covered him with had also disappeared, along with Ratchet’s laptop.

_What’s he done this time?_

Ratchet got part of the answer when he showed Drift the spare room, the room that would be hers for as long as she stayed with him. The bed –which he distinctly remembered leaving covered in piles of clean, unfolded laundry and a few boxes of Roddy’s young attempts at artwork- was neatly made, the stuff that had been on it nowhere to be seen. There was even an unopened pair of the hideous flame-printed pyjamas Roddy got him every Christmas sitting on the pillow. For her part, Drift cased the room with subtle glances as she dropped her bag and boots at the end of the bed, moving to check the view from the window.

“You still hungry?” Ratchet asked as the mortal smothered another yawn.

“No.” Drift turned her back on the window, bare toes curling into the carpet. “What’s with that?” She jerked her head at the bed, obviously meaning the _thing_ on the pillow.

“My friend Wing was here last night, I texted him and asked him to set the spare room up.” Ratchet lied smoothly. Drift didn’t even bat an eyelid at the implications, too busy trying and failing to hide another yawn. “He knows the station’s lost-and-found doesn’t run to sleepwear.”

“Yeah, but _flames?_ And brand new?” Drift raised an eyebrow, almost smirking at him.

_Fucking. Rodimus._

“That Mer who found you, I’m his caretaker at the WRC.” Ratchet decided to give a comprehensive explanation to avoid pointless questions. “His parents were killed when he was too young and I ended up raising him. Somehow he figured out social media and the internet and made himself the online ‘face’ of the WRC. He gets an allowance from the donations he brings in and thinks it’s funny to get me clothes for birthdays _and_ Christmas. Mostly PJs and jerseys. _Tacky_ ones.”

Drift was giving him a flat stare that meant the mortal had long since passed her ability to question the strange things that were happening around her. Ratchet didn’t push, leaving the mortal to sleep or poke around as she liked.

He had defences to reinforce and a Shapeshifter that needed a good talking to.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Between strengthening the wards on his property and waiting for Wing to show up Ratchet ended up pulling and all-nighter. By the time the back door opened and familiar bare feet padded down the hall it was almost dawn and Ratchet was exhausted and _seriously_ pissed off. He met Wing in the hallway, deliberately looming over the shapeshifter’s slight human form. Obviously restored by his sleep and probably well-fed from a successful hunt Wing practically glowed whereas Ratchet just wanted to fall into bed and sleep for several days. The badly-spelled message Wing had left on the laptop in his bedroom hadn't helped matters, either.

“You. Kitchen. _Now_.” Ratchet hissed through clenched teeth.

Wing laughed low in his throat as he strolled casually past the enraged selkie, even going so far as to try to sneak a quick handful of Ratchet’s ass.

“We haven’t done _that_ in a while.” Wing purred as they reached the kitchen, officially shredding Ratchet’s temper. “Sounds like fun. You feeling kinky tonight?”

“What the hell were you _thinking_ , bringing her here?” Ratchet’s voice ripped through the quiet before he forced himself to lower his voice. ‘Don’t you have any idea how _dangerous_ it was?”

The shapeshifter could change mood as easily as the sea. He turned on his heel, calm in the face of Ratchet’s wrath, barefoot and hair still dripping from the sea as he stared the taller man down.

“I am well aware of the danger Ratchet,” Wing’s voice was laced with quiet power. “But she is a Legacy. I couldn’t let her drown.”

“So you go and dump her on _my_ doorstep. Because the currents know I need more complications in my life!” Ratchet snarled and began pacing the kitchen, running his hands through his hair in lieu of shaking some sense into Wing.

“Rodimus told me-”

Ratchet whirled and made a slashing motion with his hands.

“ _Don’t_ use that name here. _Ever_.”

At least Wing managed to look apologetic.

“We have managed to stay safe here because we have been _careful_ , because we have watched our step around the ironmen and _stayed_ _hidden_.” Ratchet seemed to inflate with rage. “And now you go and dump one of them on my doorstep, a _week_ from the new moon; the Legacy of a dead Fae with unknown enemies. What the fuck is _wrong_ with you!?”

Shuffling footsteps interrupted Wing before he could defend himself and the cause of their argument came into the kitchen. Drift looking about as dangerous as you could when wearing flame-print PJs at least four sizes too big for you. Her dark hair was rumpled and messy and Ratchet suddenly wanted to see what kinds of styles Roddy could twist it into. He didn’t miss the way Wing’s eyes widened his tongue flicked out to wet his lips as the shapeshifter focused on Drift.

“I heard arguing.” Drift said, looking at Ratchet. “And I think I can guess what it’s about. You know you don’t _have_ to let me stay with you; I can always go to the motel or Strongarm’s or something.”

Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He could feel a headache building behind his eyes.

“Drift, I told you it’s no problem.” He said wearily. “I was having a go at Wing for waking me up so bloody early on my day off.”

_Not my best cover-story ever._

Wing smiled at Drift, extending his hand. Drift looked at it for a long moment then took it and shook it confusedly.

“My name is Wing. I apologise for waking you so early.” Wing was all charm as he smoothly took the excuse Ratchet had offered and ran with it. “I thought Ratchet was supposed to be at the Centre today and thought he might like a companion for the walk instead of driving today.”

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Drift blinked at Wing, still trying to wrap her head around the appearance of a stranger –a young, _pretty_ stranger- in Ratchet’s kitchen at six in the morning.

_What the fuck?!_

“It’s ok.” She said eventually. “Wasn’t really sleeping, anyway.”

It was mostly the truth. It was too easy to relax here in this strange place. The comfortable bed made her nervous so Drift had spent most of the night jerking herself awake, listening to Ratchet wander around and slowly nodding off again only to repeat the process an hour later.

_So_ this _is that Wing guy Ratchet was talking about?_

Drift searched in vain for clues in features, body language and voice to figure out how to act around this stranger. She had to know what kind of behaviour to expect, what she needed to guard against, how to take him down if she needed to. Wing was a fraction shorter than Drift, wearing faded old jeans and a loose hoodie that had seen better days. The baggy clothing showed nothing, and while Wing’s speaking voice was lovely it could be high for a man or low for a woman.

Even the hair was no help; a punk-rock nightmare of chalk-white with red and yellow streaks, soaking wet and dripping all over the stranger’s clothes.

Wing’s smile broadened under the close scrutiny, baring perfectly white teeth that seemed to waver a little in the low light, looking sharper than they should.

_Listened to too many of Gasket’s crazy monster stories._

“Ugh, sit down. I’ll make some coffee.” Ratchet said, leaving the two young people to sit –awkwardly in Drift’s case- at the table while he slammed things around on the bench.

“So, what do you do Wing? You from around here?” Drift tried to be polite and not stare at the stranger’s dirt-stained bare feet swinging playfully through the air.

“I do a bit of this and that; I live a little way down the coast.” Wing smiled as if at some private joke and Ratchet made a choking noise. “I _do_ come up to visit Ratchet fairly often, just to make sure he hasn’t worked himself half to death _again_.”

“Again?” Drift asked curiously, shooting a quick glance at the grumpy-looking redhead who was holding a coffee cup and looking like he wanted to throw it at someone.

_Strongarm wasn’t joking about him before coffee._

“He pushed himself much harder than he should have several times when Roddy was a fry,” Wing cheerfully handed Drift valuable information about the stranger who had taken her into his home. “He got very sick and ended up in hospital. I’m trying to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Ratchet is a rather valuable member of the community.”

“I can see that.” Drift said, adding Wing’s words and attitude to what she had gleaned at the police station.

_So he’s a soft touch. I might have lucked out here._

Wing grinned at her and whistled something that sounded like a dolphin trying to be a bird. Ratchet growled under his breath, slamming coffee and a pile of toast onto the table as he glared at the short punk-rocker with a look that could have killed. Drift ignored both of them, focusing instead on the more important job of getting food into her stomach.

_Everything else can wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Wing said ‘She sure cleans up pretty. Are you /sure/ you’re angry at me for this?’ in modified Mer.
> 
> ~As in all my Merformer-related fic the Mer have one physical sex and no cultural parallel to the human idea of gender. Wing was born a Mer and one of the abilities that manifested when he came into was that of a shapeshifter. (Drift can sometimes see this with her Sight, hence the pointy choppers) Each time he takes on human form Wing can decide which set of gonads he wants to keep for that particular change (and it usually depends on what he wants to get up to with Ratchet, silly horny fish).


	7. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strongarm meets Wing.  
> Drift is disturbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with this but right now this is as good as I can get it. I'm sorry TnT

# Seven: Arrangements

 

As the morning progressed Drift found herself torn between the feeling that she’d seriously lucked out and that all of this was too good to be true. She ate until her stomach couldn’t hold any more, claiming the biggest cup of coffee she figured she could get away with and sat drinking slowly while listening to Ratchet and Wing bicker like an old married couple.

 _Best free entertainment I’ve had in a_ long _time._

It was hard not to laugh at some of the insults they traded as Wing hogged all the honey and Ratchet went for so many refills of his coffee mug that Drift started to wonder if he had the black stuff flowing through his veins instead of blood. His hands didn’t even have caffeine shakes after his fourth or fifth cup, poking deftly at the screen of his phone as he returned to the table, tapping Wing smartly on the top of the head when the white-haired man whistled a little snatch of something like birdsong.

_Probably some stupid in-joke, or something._

All in all Drift was feeling far better than she had expected to. Her head still hurt, but so far the full-body aches and cramping nausea of Syk withdrawal was holding off. So she smirked at the odd pair from behind her mug as they squabbled, sipping her slowly cooling coffee and easily fending off attempts to recruit her to either side of the argument.

There was something about both of them, some strange quality that reminded her of Gasket and some of the other loners and drifters that haunted the fringe of Rodion’s underground. It was a feeling she would have been more inclined to trust if she hadn’t seen the way Ratchet had manipulated everyone at the police station so easily yesterday. Drift frowned into her coffee, trying to figure out how he’d done it.

_What he said… and how he said it… It shouldn’t have been that easy._

“So, Drift.” Ratchet’s voice broke into her musing.

Drift’s head snapped up to focus on the redheaded man. For a second she could have sworn his hair shone snowy white in the morning sun.

“ _What?_ ” She demanded, feeling a familiar headache settle into an insistent throbbing behind her eyeballs.

The expressions on both men’s faces sent a brief flicker of regret for the outburst through Drift, simply because she didn’t want to risk losing access to food and shelter so soon after getting it again.

 _I don’t care_ what _they think; so long as I don’t have to stay with that cop._

“Constable Strongarm is coming over this afternoon, to discuss a couple of things about your case and make arrangements for the weekend.” Ratchet said casually, apparently deciding to ignore the way she’d snapped at him. “I have a research trip I haven’t been able to reschedule.” He pulled a face, scowling down at his phone as if it was personally responsible for the situation. “ _Some_ people need to learn the meaning of flexibility.”

Wing started laughing as if the redhead had said something absolutely hilarious, not even able to control himself when Ratchet gave him a truly murderous glare that made Drift distinctly uncomfortable. She started edging further away from the white-haired man as he continued to giggle, trying to get out of the danger zone. Rubbing at the bridge of her nose, she pulled her legs up to make a shield. The headache had settled in to stay, making it hard to focus past the pain.

“What _kind_ of arrangements?” She asked, trying to ignore Wing and hoping to head off an explosion from Ratchet. “How long is it gonna be? Am I gonna have to go somewhere else? Are the cops gonna come _here?_ Is-”

She stopped when Ratchet held up a hand, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll be away for three nights, and that’s what we’re going to sort out when Strongarm arrives.” Ratchet interrupted before exhaustion and a withdrawal-muddled mind sent Drift into full-on panic mode. “I was going to suggest that you stay here with Wing. He’s a total pain in the arse but he’s _mostly_ harmless.”

Drift glanced dubiously at Wing. The white-haired man had almost gotten himself back under control but for some reason, something about what Ratchet said had set him off all over again. He was now face-down on the table, shaking with near-silent laughter that made the whole thing jiggle annoyingly. Ratchet rolled his eyes and sighed, looking extremely put-upon.

“I dunno.” Drift said dubiously. “He looks like he could pretty dangerous to your sanity.” The instant the words were out of her mouth she shut it with a snap, almost biting her tongue.

 _What the fuck is_ wrong _with me?!_

This _wasn’t like her_. She didn’t banter like this with anyone except Gasket and maybe one or two others of… of…

Faces and names of people she _knew_ that she’d known surfaced easily enough, but any details beyond that vanished as she tried to put mental hands on them. _How_ she’d known them, where they’d met and who was responsible for introducing them. There was a sense of shared misery and the surety that none of the people attached to those faces or names were entirely reliable.

_Trust nobody._

The only rule that ensured survival. The _only_ way to guarantee safety.

It was the only constant in Drift’s life, until she’d met Gasket and he’d tipped everything sideways.

_So why the fuck does it feel like I can trust these two?_

It was a feeling Drift might almost have believed if she hadn’t watched Ratchet casually play everyone at the police station. He’d done it so smoothly, _effortlessly_. Nobody had so much as batted an eyelid. Nobody had to noticed, except her.

So now Drift was wary, circling that supposed trustworthiness like one of the many stray cats she and Gasket had half-tamed back in Rodion.

 _It doesn’t matter. I just have to_ act _like I trust him long enough to get those bastards; then I’m out of here._

All of this flashed through Drift’s mind in the few moments it took Ratchet and Wing to process what she’d said. The white-haired man looked like he was trying to be offended while Ratchet grinned lazily and reached out to tug on a salt-crusted strand of white hair. His teeth suddenly looked too sharp to be in a human’s mouth and Drift shivered.

“That’s true enough.” Ratchet said as Wing slapped his hand away and sat up. “Anyway; Strongarm isn’t supposed to be here for another few hours, Drift. Help yourself to the food and whatever you feel like doing in the lounge. If you have any questions, just ask.”

All Drift could do was nod silently, head spinning with confusion at the generosity and what felt horribly like the beginnings of a Syk-migraine. Apparently satisfied with this silent answer the redhead turned back to his phone while Wing pulled the honey jar over and stuck a spoon into it. Drift watched in disbelief as he pulled it out again, ignoring the thin golden strands trailing from it as he shoved it in his mouth with a sound of enjoyment.

 _Ugh, gross_.

Waiting until she was sure they had both forgotten she was there, Drift topped up her coffee and slipped out of the kitchen.

She was so intent on escaping that she didn’t notice the two men exchanging worried looks as she left.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Drift had changed out of the flame-print pyjamas and was dozing on the couch when Strongarm arrived.

The sound of boots on the path didn’t quite wake her, but the loud, businesslike rapping at the door snapped her out of fuzzy almost-dreams and into heart-pounding awareness before the third knock sounded. She heard Ratchet grumbling his way down the hall just in time to slide her pocketknife away before the redhead saw, smoothing her sweaty palms down the legs of her secondhand jeans.

Getting up off the couch was harder than she expected. Her body was heavy, trying to drag her back down into sleep. Stubbornly, Drift forced herself to move and made it to the hallway door just in time to see Ratchet welcome Strongarm into the house. She returned Strongarm’s greeting warily when the constable spotted her, following at a safe distance as Ratchet led the way to the kitchen.

_Need more coffee. And maybe some of that toast…_

The double-take Strongarm did when she saw Wing was extremely gratifying, as was the way she gave him the mother of all suspicious stares, clearly sizing him up and evaluating how likely it was that she’d be putting cuffs on him in the future. Drift loved every second, basking in it without quite knowing why as she headed straight for food and coffee.

The offer to help herself to the kitchen had been made, and until someone indicated otherwise Drift was going to milk it for all it was worth.

She put as much bread in the toaster as it could handle and listened to Ratchet and Strongarm talk while she contemplated the incredible variety of jams and honey in Ratchet’s cupboards. A memory of him mentioning Hostel Rules on the drive over from the police station had her asking if anyone else wanted food or a hot drink before the strangeness of the whole situation punched her in the face all over again.

Feeling definitely uncomfortable, Drift made coffee for Ratchet, disgustingly sweet tea for Wing and a more normal cup for Strongarm, delivering them to the table while she waited for her second round of toast to pop up.

_What the hell is going on here?!?_

Finally armed with a plate of toast and more coffee to fortify herself with, Drift slipped into the last free chair at the table and tried to work out what was going on and what had been figured out so far.

The toast disappeared long before Ratchet and Strongarm came to an agreement, and then Wing apparently decided things weren’t moving fast enough for his liking. Smoothly, he took control of the conversation and Ratchet seemed to be happy to let him do so, falling silent as the white-haired man smiled winningly at the policewoman, radiating an air of innocent friendliness and competence that was completely at odds with the giggling wreck she remembered from breakfast.

Drift’s eyebrows crept up her forehead as she watched Wing charm Strongarm into complete acceptance of the white-haired weirdo being the one left to watch over a recent victim of assault and attempted murder.

 _He’s not even wearing fuckin’_ shoes!

With a critical eye, Drift decided that with that sharp-featured face beneath salt-stiffened hair, loose clothing and bare feet the man looked like a reject from a surfer-bum anime.

Frowning over the rim of her freshly refilled coffee cup, Drift studied Wing with the laserlike focus she’d perfected long before meeting Gasket. While his appearance remained blessedly stable it was hard to ignore the way his white hair and yellowish eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon light. His words, though; they seemed to hold a strange, almost songlike cadence that hovered right on the border of hearing.

It set Drift’s teeth on edge, made her head hurt with an ache that was different from the throbbing of withdrawal.

An odd squeak-creaking noise echoed through her head, although nobody else seemed to hear it.

Then Drift realised she was grinding her teeth and stopped, freeing one hand from her mug to clench into a fist in her lap instead. She continued to watch and listen as Wing somehow convinced the cop to accept the absolutely bizarre situation with his weird almost-singing-but-not-really words.

Eventually Strongarm left, promising to keep in touch with Drift over the weekend.

As Wing played the good host, showing Strongarm out, Drift glared at the back of the his sand-dusted hoodie and vowed that no matter what Ratchet said, she wouldn’t be taken in by this nice guy act.

 _There’s something_ seriously _weird about that guy…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet has put minor healing spells into the food to help Drift recover from her ordeal. It's why she's feeling so good at the moment. She's still going into withdrawal though and that's gonna SUCK.  
> Wing's mind went to dirty, dirty places which is why he's laughing so much.  
> Crystal Cove takes a Kiwi approach to shoes, Rodion area is more like the USA.


End file.
